


aspiration

by sugaroons (padfooted)



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, angst angst angst tbh, ong's life was p much like this tho, struggling artist! reader, writing this was like stomping on my heart HAHA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 04:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12005121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padfooted/pseuds/sugaroons
Summary: there’s nothing more important to you and Ong Seongwu than your dreams.





	aspiration

You’re at the company office at midnight on a Friday, sheets clutched in your hand. As the days lead up to the girls’ debut, this is becoming increasingly normal; albums aren’t written in a day, and the company’s too small to afford more people on the team. Despite the long hours and low pay, you’re happier than you’ve been in years.

Today, however, you’ve been neglecting your duties, your gaze focused on the small television screen in the office pantry. You’ve bitten your nails down to stubs, and your heart’s pounding wildly.

“The trainee who ranked fifth…” BoA says on the screen.

The camera flashes to Ong Seongwu, and you feel your breath catch. He’s gotten a lot more handsome these days. He’d been cute back in high school, when Seongwu had been all lanky limbs and silly faces, bursting with an energy that couldn’t be contained. To watch him perform now makes your heart ache for all the wrong reasons, though you try tell yourself you made the right choice.

“This is someone who got an A during the first level test,” BoA continues.

Your fist clenches because you know only a few of the trainees left fit that criteria. Seongwu looks nervous, and you can’t help but feel the same. He’s been at this for far too long, made too many sacrifices to lose here. Ong Seongwu is not the type to give up on anything, especially his dream, and you’d been witness to that. How many nights had he come home late, out doing another small acting role to make up for the time he spent auditioning at agencies? You’d always kept your medicine cabinet well-stocked and placed cooling patches on the muscles you knew would ache the most because he’d be too exhausted to do that himself.

“With a total of 984, 756 votes…”

There was nothing to be done. Seongwu’s destiny was to be an idol, and you’d stood in the way of that.

“Fantagio’s Ong Seongwu!”

The other trainees surround him, and the smile on his face is radiant. Satisfied, you turn the television off and return to your desk to pack-up, telling yourself the tightness in your chest is one of pride rather than loss.

* * *

 

When Ong Seongwu walks into your classroom for the first time, he’s wearing dorky glasses, carrying a large backpack, and sporting hair that belongs in a 70s fashion catalog. You’re immediately intrigued by the mischievous glint in his eyes and the upturned curl of his mouth. He grins at the class as soon as he walks in and takes the seat beside yours.

You expect him to become your partner for all the seatworks the rest of the year, but he begins to invade the other aspects of your life, too, with both of you in the drama and music clubs together. You catch him taking a dumb selfie on your phone and roll your eyes, but you save it in a secret folder because it makes you smile. You’re always at school late together, him practicing the latest choreography for the dance troupe and you fiddling with the guitar and the piano to figure out the arrangement of your latest piece. In a class of high school students with futures they’ve not yet decided, the two of you are drawn to each other, your ambitions complementary and laser-focused.

By your senior year, you’re spending most of your time together, though Seongwu is often missing because of the training he does with the agency he’s signed with. You always have the notes prepared for him when he returns, and the sincerity in his thanks and the brightness of his smile make it worth it.

You graduate and move out at the same time, both not wanting to cause your parents trouble. Though you go through the charade of trying to find another roommate, when you secure an affordable apartment, you invite Seongwu to live with you. It makes things easier because you’re both chasing the same dreams, both trying to make it in one of the most trying industries in the country.

Seongwu is easy to live with, and you soon fall into a regular routine: breakfast together at the crack of dawn, then both of you go out to the various studios and agencies to try your luck, to practice, to dream. You work the afternoon to night shift at the local barbecue restaurant, while Seongwu does different modeling gigs to pay the rent. He leaves the pictures strewn around the apartment because he knows they make you smile. You don’t tell him it’s because he looks handsome as a groom or an athlete or a boy next door, making fun of them instead.

Life is busy, and money gets tight, and sometimes you sleep with an empty stomach. But you’re young and fresh from the academic life, with enough faith in the abilities you’ve honed and the passion you’ve focused all these years. It helps that your best friend is around cheering you on even when you’re both lying down on the floor, dead tired from the choreographies you had to learn for yet another audition.

* * *

 

It’s been two years.

You’ve heard it all. Your hips are too wide, your cheeks too round, your face not the “idol look.” Seongwu can tell you’re more hurt than you let on. Though he never says anything after each failed appointment, he insists on sleeping in your bed and holding you close, his arms firmly around your waist beneath your thin blankets. It’s been a long day, and you’re particularly sensitive after the agent called you ‘ a hopeless case.’ You and Seongwu lie in bed together, both still awake in the darkness of your room.

“Should I—Seulgi’s mom says she’d be,” you say, hesitating, “she’d be willing to fix me.” You find Seongwu's hand and lace your fingers between his, holding onto him like a lifeline. He says nothing; both of you know the stakes in the world you want to be part of.

“I love music,” you whisper, “more than nearly anything else in the world.” Seongwu holds you tighter. _As much as I love you_ , you leave unsaid.

Beneath the faint smell of the cologne he’d had to model today is Seongwu’s familiar scent, and you breathe it in. How long will you two be chasing your dreams? How long will you spend long hours working terrible jobs to keep yourselves afloat? And how long will you avoid addressing what’s between you two: the warmth of his back against your chest as you fall asleep, fleeting touches that spark lightning up your arms, and an embrace that feel like home?

You turn around to face him, and he reaches up automatically to try and wipe away your tears. But there are none there, only the tension between you two as the clock on your nightstand ticks and fills the silence in the room. His fingers are still on your left cheek, and you take a deep breath, knowing there’s no turning back from this point. You brace yourself for a sleepless night of embarrassment and prepare your excuses for the morning light, when you feel his lips touch yours, light as a butterfly.

“Good night,” Seongwu says against your mouth, pulling you close so your head is nestled in the crook of his neck, and you fall asleep with his name on your lips.

* * *

 

Soon Seongwu is signed to Fantagio, and you take the day off at work to throw him a little party at your apartment, complete with streamers and a cake because you know he enjoys fanfare even if he won’t admit it. Every morning before he goes to their office, you kiss him on the left cheek, precisely at the spot where his three moles lie. His pretend shiver gets you every time, making you laugh before you go to the café next door to write songs. More and more, you’re drawn to the production side of music, focusing on the magic you can make with your looper, laptop, and mic, sending out your demos to the different entertainment companies.

You and Seongwu forget to be careful, going on Tuesday dates at conveniences store and 24-hour fast food places at three in the morning, laughing and holding hands. It’s the only time you can afford to be out together, and you treasure the walk along your dimly lit street, hearing Seongwu’s worn sneakers against the pavement as you run the last few steps to your place. You’re happy. So happy, too happy.

One Tuesday night, Seongwu comes home late. Your smile fades as soon as you see his face, his expression as serious and frustrated as when his old label had dropped him unexpectedly, when he knew he’d have to start all over again.

“My agent saw us,” he says, not looking at you. “We’re not allowed to have personal lives.” Seongwu sounds bitter but resigned, and that tells you all you need to know. You are as important to him as he is to you, a vine around the trellis of his life, blooming and twining around with the sun and storms of the years you’ve spent together. But performing on the stage, becoming the idol Ong Seongwu, that is written in his identity, engraved deeply and permanently in the metal, more integral than breathing.

Neither of you have had to deal with important conflict with each other; he’s supported your dream for as long as you can remember, and vice versa. The part of you that wants to speak up and yell, to fight and push for you to stay together, is hushed by the side that says it would be selfish. You would never ask him to make a choice because you know your relationship and your dreams aren’t mutually exclusive. But even compromise is difficult in an industry as cutthroat as the one you both aspire towards, and you’re afraid to hear that he wouldn’t be willing to take that chance.

He explains that he’s moving to the company dorms for convenience, and you watch him pack silently.

“Don’t,” you say, “don’t forget the pain relief ointment in the cabinet. I don’t have much use for it.” You shut the door to your little room quietly, glad the walls are thick enough to prevent your sobs from being heard.

By morning, he’s gone.

* * *

 

You’re so caught up in helping prepare for the girls’ performance on Show Champion that you forget who else is supposed to be on the show on the same day. When Wanna One’s name is called, announcing what seems to be one in an endless streak of wins since their debut a couple of months back, you gasp audibly. You can’t leave without seeing him, and you excuse yourself to wait backstage till they come for their post-win cooldown. You see him before he sees you, speaking before he can notice your presence.

“Seongwu, congratulations!” you say, your voice cracking when you say his name. His eyes go wide when he sees you, the smile is frozen on his face. He’s always been a better actor than you, but stress has always gotten to him easily.

“What are you doing here?” Seongwu says, glancing back every so often at the rest of Wanna One.

“Ah,” you say, fiddling with your fingers, “I’m a producer and lyricists for one of the girl groups here.” You laugh. "They’re a lot prettier than I ever was.” It’s been a year and a half, and he’s still witness to your greatest insecurities, the parts of yourself you try to play off with a cheery grin and a shrug.

“You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” Seongwu says tenderly, under his breath so only you can hear.

There are so many things you want to tell him. _I made a huge mistake letting you go. We could have made it work, but I didn’t even believe enough in us to try. I love you. I love you. I love you._

Instead, you smile, biting your lip. “I’m sorry,” you say, the words laden with the weight of your history. You try again. “I’m sorry, the team might be looking for me.” Despite your words, you’re rooted to the spot, unable to look away from him.

“Hyung?” One of the members calls out to Seongwu, and it seems to break the trance. He nods again at you, and in the fleeting moment he looks away, you realize you can’t let him walk away without at least _trying._

“Let’s see each other again soon?” you say, reaching out with your cellphone in hand. He looks at it for a moment before grinning widely, taking it and tapping quickly before joining the rest of the boys.

When you check your phone, you can’t help but laugh. He’d snapped a picture of himself and had somehow found the time to put a glasses sticker over his face. It’s the same face he’d made all those years ago on the first phone you’d ever owned. You can’t start with a clean slate, but a past like yours and his, marked with heartbreaks and failures and finally, _finally_ triumph, sustains memories not so easily forgotten.

 _i missed you_ , you text, and in an instant, he replies, as quick as he’d always been.

_same. it’s good to be back home._

 


End file.
